


Songs of the Heart

by Fatal_in_Fillory



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Music, No Character Death, Post-Season/Series 04, Quentin is fine, Return of Josh's music player, Sadness, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22435000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatal_in_Fillory/pseuds/Fatal_in_Fillory
Summary: Not leaving the apartment for days on end was becoming a regular occurrence for Quentin. The seclusion began during his recovery where his friends would visit him when they weren’t visiting Eliot at Brakebills but Margo never really left Eliot’s side and Julia was spending an increasing amount of time relearning her limits with magic. So, when Alice was the only one bothering to visit Quentin, it didn’t take long for the conversations to turn into fights about how Quentin’s wish for death had almost come true and how much it hurt for her to see him almost die and how dare Quentin make her watch him almost get blown to bits.[Or the one where Quentin is in a bout of depression when he comes across one of Eliot's playlists entitled "Quentin" that just so happens to be filled with love songs.]
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 5
Kudos: 184





	Songs of the Heart

Not leaving the apartment for days on end was becoming a regular occurrence for Quentin. The seclusion began during his recovery where his friends would visit him when they weren’t visiting Eliot at Brakebills but Margo never really left Eliot’s side and Julia was spending an increasing amount of time relearning her limits with magic. So, when Alice was the only one bothering to visit Quentin, it didn’t take long for the conversations to turn into fights about how Quentin’s wish for death had almost come true and how much it hurt for her to see him almost die and how dare Quentin make her watch him almost get blown to bits.

When they broke up, it was unsurprising to either of them and Quentin questioned whether he broke it off just to push her away and allow himself to fall deeper into his hole of depression that he never could quite climb out from or if it really was because they just weren’t meant to be.

Quentin spent his time curled in his bed with his knees together and his back to his closed door. The wooden chair by his bed had been empty going on four days and Quentin was losing track of when he had last showered or eaten—Neither of which were good for his slowly healing wounds.

Quentin was pressed against the far side of his bed asleep when shuffling pulled him out of his restless slumber. He pulled the blanket from over his head to find a curly haired Eliot sitting in that usually empty wooden chair. Eliot’s cane rested against his thigh as he scrolled through his phone—Probably Instagram, Quentin had decided.

“When did you get back?” Quentin mumbled, though Eliot continued scrolling.

“Just today—actually about ten minutes ago,” Eliot said, sad smile spreading across his lips.

“Where is everyone else?” Quentin asked carefully, pulling himself into a sitting position with his heavy blanket pulled high over his sweater clad chest.

“Resting or gone or fucking,” Eliot said with a whimsical sigh before putting his phone down, “You know—“ he continued, “—this chair is not very comfortable.”

“That’s the point,” Quentin said, “it kept visits short, you know?”

Eliot stood slowly and nodded, “Yeah, I think I get that. I just wanted to check on—“ Eliot had begun to walk towards the closed door.

“Wait no, I didn’t mean you,” Quentin called, causing Eliot to turn on his heel, slow and elegant.

He looked nice for just getting out of the hospital and the smile that was flashed at Quentin caused his heart to skip a beat. Quentin pulled the blanket back, presenting his black sheets to Eliot—an offer that Eliot could never refuse.

Once Eliot was comfortable, back resting on a pillow against the wall, Quentin didn’t bother to ask or wait for an invitation before resting his head on Eliot’s lap. It was a mostly platonic gesture at the surface—Eliot being known for his loving touches and Quentin being known for his neediness—but both men were well aware of how few people Quentin would allow into his space during these times.

“I heard magic is fucked up again,” Quentin muttered, eyes fluttering shut as Eliot’s soft hands began to pet his hair—whether being a habit or a gesture, neither knew.

“Does it matter?” Eliot asked, tucking Quentin’s hair behind his ear absently.

“I’m sorry I haven’t—“

“I know,” Eliot responded so quickly, Quentin’s voice hadn’t even had time to crack.

“I should have visited after Lipson released me,” Quentin said with a deep sigh, “I wanted to.”

“I know,” Eliot responded again, setting his free hand on Quentin’s upper arm, thumb rubbing absentmindedly.

“You were the only person I didn’t get tired of, El,” Quentin spoke quietly.

“Only because I was just as stuck in that hospital room as you,” Eliot shot back playfully.

Quentin scoffed, “Yeah, definitely.”

The silence between them was a comfortable one before breathing from both men deepened.

Being woken up by shouting was something Quentin was _not_ used to or enjoying. It was a startle that neither men were prepared for but both understood once eyes were open. Margo stood in Quentin’s doorway, hands on her hips and Josh on her tail.

“This is where you’ve been?” She shouted, striding into the room as if it were her own—a very Margo thing to do, of course.

“Yes, Bambi,” Eliot responded, “Resting.”

“We’ve been looking for you for hours, Dickhead,” Margo hissed, “We even did a locator spell but the damn thing just bounced around the living room.”

“Spells still aren’t going well,” Josh said with a breathless laugh.

“That sounds like anybody else’s problem besides ours,” Quentin said, sleep ridden voice still apparent.

“You know, he does have a point. I feel like we’ve done a lot of the fixing when it comes to magic,” Josh responded.

“That’s not the point, even if it is true,” Margo said, “I was worried, El.”

“I’m sorry, Bambi,” Eliot said lovingly.

“Eliot, I need to talk to you,” Margo said suddenly quite serious.

And that is when Quentin sat up and began to climb over Eliot to get out of bed and, in turn, away from all of the new and unfolding drama that he had no interest in dealing with or being involved in.

“ _I’mjustgonnashower_ ,” Quentin spoke so fast the words bled together before he closed himself away.

Quentin stayed under the safety of the water stream until the distant muffled voices faded to silence. When he exited his bathroom with a towel around his waist, his room was empty. His sheets, however, had changed to a soft blue color—Clean.

* * *

Quentin’s phone had long been discarded across from him—he rarely touched it anymore considering how inactive it was. The rumbling vibration in the silence that had long since swallowed him pulled his attention.

With a sigh, he tapped the screen and found a new text message.

**Visit?**

The number wasn’t saved but Quentin knew.

 _Always_.

A long minute later, Eliot was joining Quentin in bed, now dressed in significantly more comfortable clothing—compared to his previous visit, anyway. Quentin’s head rested on Eliot’s shoulder once Eliot found a comfortable position lying on his back.

“Margo left for Fillory,” Eliot sighed, eyes on the ceiling.

“I didn’t expect her to leave without you,” Quentin responded.

Eliot hummed and wrapped an arm around Quentin, resting his hand on his waist.

“I chose to stay,” Eliot responded, unsurprised by the shocked look Quentin shot him.

“Wait what?” Quentin asked.

“It’s not like she’s alone,” Eliot shrugged, “She has Josh. She’s going back to reclaim her place as High King and I’ll join her in time—I just need to rest.”

“Like from Fillory or in general?” Quentin asked, gaze returning to the closed door—basically the only place for him really to look considering how they were laying.

A simple “Yes,” was Eliot’s response.

Quentin chuckled.

“You wanna tell me why you’ve been holed up in here?” Eliot asked, hand rising to pet through Quentin’s hair—more absent movements.

“I broke it off with Alice,” Quentin said.

“That’s not why you’re in here. Post breakup Quentin involves much more alcohol,” Eliot stated matter-of-factly.

Quentin smiled at the thought because Eliot was damn right about that.

“I thought you would be happier about the whole being alive thing,” Eliot continued, “but I get why you’re not.”

“Do you?” Quentin asked, pulling back from Eliot’s grasp to look at him.

“Q, I know you better than you think. We _did_ spend a lifetime or so together, you know,” Eliot responded, bringing up a topic that Quentin wasn’t sure would ever be brought up again.

“You aren’t wrong,” Quentin muttered, replacing his head, “I didn’t think I would make it out of there.”

“You didn’t think or…?” Eliot trailed quietly.

Quentin sighed.

“I didn’t want to?” Quentin said though the words came as a question.

Quentin sat up suddenly, looking at Eliot again as he continued with a large inhale;

“I woke up and Lipson was there and I asked her _why_ … and I feel bad because… I mean, yeah, she had a lot on her plate and the first thing I ask when I wake up is _why did you save me_? But at the same time I have to think maybe that’s where my story should have ended, you know? Because Eliot I’m done saving magic over and over again. I’m done with every single thing that I have ever cared for being ripped from me—Fillory, magic, my dad, you…”

Quentin took a shaky breath and looked down—a wave of regret and guilt washing over him.

“Hey, I’m right here,” Eliot pulled Quentin into his arms, holding him to his chest, “You did everything but lose me. You _saved_ me, Quentin, and almost died in the process and for what it’s worth—I’m fucking glad that I didn’t lose you.”

“ _Because nobody else would deal with someone this touchy_ ,” Quentin’s muffled words came from Eliot’s shoulder, causing Eliot to release him with a scoff.

“Ha ha,” Eliot responded, rolling his eyes, “You hungry?”

“Not really,” Quentin muttered, lying back in his spot against Eliot, “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Depression does that,” Eliot nodded, “But I seriously haven’t seen you eat since I got here and I know it’s been longer than that so how about a few crackers?”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Quentin said, “I don’t want that.”

“I’m not taking care of you just because you saved me, Q. You’re my fucking best friend and I just got you back—I’m not about to lose you, again,” Eliot said sternly.

“Crackers don’t sound too bad,” Quentin muttered with a long sigh.

Eliot flashed a smile and tapped Quentin’s nose lovingly as he said, “Thank you.”

* * *

Several crackers in, Quentin’s nausea set in and the crackers were clipped and set on his bedside table before both men fell into yet another slumber. Waking up in pain was a regular for Quentin and this time was no different. Normally, his wound was mostly numb—numb enough, even, to lie on his back—but once the salve Lipson gave wore off, he would be right back in that extreme pain.

Part of him hoped maybe the salve could seep deep into his bones and numb his emotions but it never did.

However, waking up hissing and groaning was not pleasant for Quentin—nor was it pleasant for Eliot who had to take a moment to assess Quentin’s sitting form before the realization of _why_ Quentin was hurting hit him. He had watched Lipson apply the balm a handful of times while at Brakebills and knew what it did.

The container filled with said balm was currently sitting below the crackers on the bedside table. Before grabbing it, Eliot instructed Quentin to take off his shirt—a difficult task for someone in pain. The cloth rubbing against the agitated wound combined with Quentin’s inability to raise his arms without the skin tightening around his back caused Quentin to hesitate.

“Here,” Eliot muttered as he positioned himself behind Quentin, “just hold still, Q.”

Eliot began to roll up Quentin’s sweater from the base of his back, slowly revealing Quentin’s wrapped wounds in a way that Eliot hadn’t had the chance to see this close. Pulling the gauze from the wound was not easy—the bandages stuck to Quentin’s skin in a way that Eliot had never seen. Eliot carefully removed them until Quentin’s wounds could be seen clearly. They seemed better than the last time he saw them, luckily, but Quentin’s back still looked red and even a little dead—Almost like a large burn.

Inhaling slowly, Eliot removed Quentin’s sweater from his torso without Quentin having to move _too_ much and reached for the salve.

“Does it hurt when it goes on?” Eliot asked quietly.

“Only like it’s happening all over again,” Quentin scoffed and shook his head, “but it acts fast enough, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliot said and began to smooth the salve over the entirety of Quentin’s back.

Quentin was hunched forward with his face in his sweater until Eliot finished. Under his fingers, Eliot could feel Quentin shuttering with each application and felt a wave of guilt by the end. Eliot left Quentin to sit while he washed his hands and retrieved fresh bandages from Quentin’s bathroom. Placing the new bandage was actually easier than getting it off; especially with the salve working into Quentin’s wound.

Once the bandage was secured onto Quentin, Eliot climbed back into bed while Quentin tossed his shirt aside with an irritated sigh.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Quentin muttered, unmoving from his sitting position.

“Oh, do you usually fix your bandages yourself?” Eliot shot back.

“I mean, I can. Julia was helping me at first,” Quentin muttered again.

“Yeah, and I told her I didn’t mind taking over for a bit,” Eliot spoke through a smile that Quentin couldn’t see—but could hear.

“I can’t lie on my back for a while,” Quentin said suddenly.

“So lay on your side?” Eliot asked and held out his arm, offering his chest, once again, as a pillow.

Quentin gladly took it.

* * *

Quentin’s depression hadn’t deepened—nor had it gotten any better. So he used his time of healing to continue hiding from basically everyone besides Eliot. And it wasn’t like he told them to stay away—though, he was almost certain Eliot told them not to include Quentin in their magic-fixing-drama—but he never asked anyone to come in, either.

He knew Julia worried—he could hear her talking to people about him and it’s not like he was angry but he also couldn’t really bring himself to care. She had other things going on and Quentin didn’t blame her for getting wrapped up in them. They all had their own lives, of course, besides Quentin who’s life basically revolved around book Fillory and magic—both of which sound better than they actually are.

And Eliot understood that in every way.

“So, repairer of small objects, hm?” Eliot asked one day as they lay together—such a common occurrence that neither questioned anymore considering Eliot naturally gravitated toward Quentin’s room over his.

Quentin was still in the process of briefing Eliot over the last six months of their lives but neither were in a rush to do so. Stories came up at random and the two talked for hours, sometimes—and other times, not at all.

It was a comfortable arrangement.

Quentin sighed and shrugged, “yeah, I guess.”

“You aren’t impressed,” Eliot stated matter-of-factly.

Quentin rolled his eyes and looked up at Eliot from where his head rested on his shoulder, “It’s not very impressive.”

“But you are and you are a representation of your discipline so I say it is quite impressive,” Eliot said, “besides, you did save all of magic with it, didn’t you?”

“Something like that,” Quentin said with a dry laugh.

“Seriously, Q, don’t you think your discipline makes sense? You’ve said yourself that everyone always looked at you like you were broken or like all you did was break things but it turns out you’re the exact opposite—literally,” Eliot shrugged, causing Quentin’s head to move.

“And here I am, still broken,” Quentin responded with a sigh.

“Nope, I won’t hear it!” Eliot loudly stated, twisting out of bed in a way that he couldn’t do just a week before.

“Where are you going?” Quentin asked, more annoyed at the sudden loss of his pillow—a very platonic thing to be annoyed about.

“ _We_ are going on an incredibly short but much needed walk,” Eliot proclaimed.

A rush of dread filled Quentin in a way that he was all too used to—Anxiety and depression worked well with one another, after all.

“El—“ Quentin began.

Eliot sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed Quentin’s hand, “Please?”

Quentin sighed and nodded earning a forehead kiss and a _way_ too happy exclaim from Eliot.

Both adorned jackets for the late afternoon air—Eliot, dressed elegantly as usual, and Quentin, with a hoodie pulled messily over his sweatshirt and jeans. Stepping out of his room was bizarre, to say the least. Sure, Quentin had wandered out from time to time to retrieve food but leaving his room to actually _go_ somewhere was new.

“Where are you two off to?” Julia asked from the couch, her legs resting on Penny’s lap.

“A walk, I guess,” Quentin muttered.

“I begged him,” Eliot said proudly earning a soft smile from Julia.

“I’ve done that plenty of times, right, Q?”

“I hate you both,” Quentin sighed and made his way through the front door, Eliot on his tail.

It turned out, walking around a park in the cold air wasn’t a terrible idea. The sky was dark from rain clouds looming and most of the walkways and grass areas were empty. That’s how Eliot and Quentin ended up lying on the grass, staring at the orange sunset clouds, with (what was) Margo’s-now-Eliot’s old music player between them and an earbud each.

“You choose,” Eliot said, clicking on a playlist and handing it to Quentin.

“When did you get this, exactly?” Quentin asked as he began to scroll through the songs—a surprising amount of 80s.

“Margo said it got her through a pretty hard time and I think we both need that, now. Besides, I’ve added a lot more than just the 80’s songs,” Eliot chuckled.

Quentin chose a song at random and slipped the player into his pocket absentmindedly to return his gaze to the moving clouds.

“I’ve been hoping for rain,” Quentin sighed.

Eliot hummed in response.

\--

Quentin ended up with (apparently) Josh-then-Margo-then-Eliot’s music player in his jacket pocket later that night. He was alone, lying on his bed, with the sound of water running from his bathroom shower where Eliot was currently.

Quentin had long forgotten how to use music players that weren’t touch screen and connected to some kind of phone—his preference being iPhone. With earbuds in his ears, he clicked the back button and began scrolling through the playlist names—

 **Quentin**.

And that is how Quentin spent the better part of the following thirty minutes, scrolling through endless songs—all of which being love songs. Any song Quentin wasn’t particularly aware of, he would play it and look up the lyrics on his phone. And maybe Quentin was doing the Quentin thing where he looked too deep into whatever was happening or maybe he couldn’t explain Eliot’s recent insistence to be by his side. So when Eliot exited Quentin’s bathroom—hair still wet and loose black pants clinging to his exposed hips—and began talking to him, Quentin could barely pay attention.

“ _What_?”

Quentin saw Eliot’s lips move but he didn’t hear him over whatever song was playing. Quentin tugged the earbuds from his ears and pushed the music player aside.

“You wanna tell me why you have a playlist with my name on it filled with love songs because maybe I don’t know Margo as well as you but I’m fairly certain Margo didn’t put that in,” Quentin’s eyes remained on Eliot.

“Well, I did say Josh had it before Margo,” Eliot responded.

Quentin almost smiled.

“I’m serious, El,” Quentin said because it hit him very suddenly that this wasn’t okay.

“Do we have to have this conversation now?” Eliot asked, careful and slow.

Quentin rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Alright.”

“No, I don’t mean I don’t want to have the conversation, Q. I just don’t want to complicate things for you even more,” Eliot said quickly, sitting beside him on the bed and engulfing Quentin’s senses in a freshly showered Eliot smell that he definitely enjoyed.

“I think if we don’t talk about it now, things will fuck up even harder,” Quentin muttered.

“Okay,” Eliot said with a long sigh, “go ahead.”

Quentin inhaled.

“You know, after our conversation in the throne room—my confidence was gone. I had this sudden overwhelming feeling of trust and love for you that you just… acted like didn’t matter and I was so sure, Eliot, that you were _it_ and you broke a part of me that day.”

“I was afraid and that doesn’t make any of it okay but—“ Eliot sighed and shrugged, “Fuck, I’m not exactly the boyfriend type, Q.”

“Then why are you still here? Why didn’t you leave with Margo? Why aren’t you back fixing Fillory or helping Julia unfuck magic?” Quentin stood and crossed the room anxiously, arms folded across his chest, “I don’t want you here if this is some sort of payback for getting you back. I’m not the only one—“

“This has nothing to do with that, Quentin,” Eliot said quickly, following him. Eliot stopped Quentin’s anxious movements by holding his shoulders delicately as he continued to speak;

“I fucked up, Q, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let something so strong and pure go out of fear but in case you don’t know by now, that’s who I am sometimes. And yeah, it’s something that I’m working on but I’ve realized something that I really think now is the time to say—“ Eliot inhaled, meeting Quentin’s soft brown eyes, “—You make me brave enough to try and change, Quentin Coldwater, and I won’t let that go, again. Not without at least trying to give this a shot.”

And then they were kissing. Quentin doesn’t know who kissed who or maybe it was a mutual realization that they hadn’t kissed in so long and _fuck_ Quentin missed the feeling of stretching up to meet Eliot’s lips and having Eliot’s long arms wrapping around him and his hands tangling in his hair. Quentin’s hands didn’t do much—they rarely did. He had pulled Eliot against him by the waist during the kiss and that’s where they rested, fingers digging into the clothes and skin there as Eliot guided them back to Quentin’s bed.

Quentin fell back onto his bed when the back of his knees collided with the edge of the mattress. Using the separation, Quentin pulled his sweater over his head, hair falling around his face once the clothing was discarded. Eliot smiled down at him and put a knee on the bed, climbing over Quentin while the two moved further onto the mattress.

Quentin could only take Eliot’s gaze for so long before capturing his lips again. Quentin had lost a fair amount of weight over the previous few weeks and despite having more of an appetite now, his body still wasn’t in the greatest of shapes—he had even started looking a bit scrawny. That is why when Eliot began kissing Quentin’s jawline, then neck, then chest—Quentin tensed.

“Too much?” Eliot asked suddenly, lips so close to Quentin’s chest that he could feel Eliot’s warm breath over his sensitive skin.

“N-No nothing like that. I’m just…” Quentin inhaled and sat up slightly, leaning on his elbows, “My body is different than the last time we… did… this.”

“I mean, yeah,” Eliot scoffed with a smile, “Of course you look different. _We_ look different because we are different but that doesn’t make you any less attractive, Q, and trust me when I say words don’t really cover how much I want you.”

Quentin couldn’t say it any better, really, and so he pulled Eliot into another kiss and gave a nod of approval when Eliot began kissing his way down Quentin’s body for a second time. This time, however, he lingered in all of the right places. Lips connected with every bit of skin they could find; collar bones, pecks, nipples—Quentin was shivering in anticipation by the time Eliot had moved to his waist.

Eliot’s fingers quickly unbuttoned Quentin’s jeans which caused Quentin’s bulge to unzip his zipper slightly. Eliot pulled the zipper down completely and rubbed Quentin through his boxers—an action that caused a quiet sigh from Quentin. Eliot pressed soft kisses to Quentin’s stomach as his fingers wrapped around Quentin’s still hidden but painfully hard cock, stroking it slow and hard until a spot of precum had appeared on Quentin’s boxers.

“Tease,” Quentin muttered in a playful but mild frustration

Quentin’s left wrist moved to rest over his mouth to suppress any unintentionally loud moans. A dark chuckle escaped Eliot’s throat that echoed through Quentin’s body and caused the smaller man to shiver-- From then on, Quentin was positive Eliot’s eyes never left his own.

Eliot fished out Quentin’s arousal not long after, tugging down Quentin’s jeans just enough so he could access all of Quentin’s cock. Painfully slow, Eliot positioned himself between Quentin’s legs, fingers rubbing up and down Quentin’s cock teasingly—Quentin groaned in frustration which turned to enjoyment as Eliot slipped his lips over Quentin, tongue rubbing circles around Quentin’s head.

“Fuck,” Quentin moaned out quietly, hand quickly tangling in Eliot’s hair to stop him from cumming right then and there.

Once Eliot’s head began bobbing, however, Quentin was gone. It took just over a minute before Quentin could feel the warmth and tingling in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in so, _so_ long. He reached down and Eliot’s free hand immediately entangled in his own.

“E-El, my _god_ … I can’t—“ Quentin moaned out but Eliot didn’t stop, he didn’t slow down, and he didn’t move away. Quentin came and Eliot swallowed Quentin in a jumbled mess of hands clutching hands, messy hair, and both swear words and groans flowing from his mouth.

Quentin didn’t pay attention to much after that. Eliot tucked him away before climbing up next to him, legs and fingers intertwining with one another.

“It’s been a bit,” Quentin muttered after a long minute and Eliot laughed into his shoulder.

“Speak for yourself, I’ve done nothing sexual since well before The Monster,” Eliot said, earning him a kiss.

The two kissed like this for a while with the sound of rain hitting Quentin’s window and unmoving from one another. Pulling away from the kiss felt foreign and uncomfortable and neither particularly wanted to part so when Quentin felt the need to speak, Eliot simply redirected the use of his lips to Quentin’s neck.

“So are we—uh—official?” Quentin asked, a noise from Eliot’s throat that Quentin couldn’t quite tell was either a yes or no, “—El,” Quentin tried again.

Eliot pulled back slightly with a smile and met Quentin’s gaze again.

“I said _yes_ ,” Eliot laughed and Quentin scoffed.

“Oh yeah, sure, I can totally understand various throat noises as responses,” Quentin said, rolling his eyes.

“Can you understand this, Coldwater?” Eliot asked, guiding Quentin’s already grasped hand to his own arousal that had not vanished.

“ _Oh_ ,” Quentin said, breathless, “Yeah… I mean… Yeah.”

Eliot smiled and allowed himself to be turned onto his back by a slightly shaky Quentin. Kisses continued between them and could continue endlessly if a there hadn’t been a very hard reminder rubbing against Quentin’s thigh as he positioned himself on top of Eliot.

“You don’t have to do this, Q,” Eliot said, hands rubbing Quentin’s neck lovingly.

“My _god_ , I want to, El,” Quentin said in a breathy whisper, “Just let me….” He trailed off as he pulled himself off of Eliot and the bed.

After a moment of rustling through his drawers, he pulled out an old tube of lube and tossed it towards the bed without looking. He then proceeded to shove off his jeans and boxers before turning back to Eliot—finding the man naked, as well. Eliot looked as if he hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed but his sweat pants were at the foot of the mattress. Quentin’s eyes swept over the gorgeous being in front of him and gulped at the sight of Eliot’s long cock erect and touching his stomach.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Quentin mumbled, quickly climbing back into Eliot’s lap, sitting on Eliot’s thighs before he leaned down to reconnect their lips for a moment, “I want to ride you.”

Eliot smirked in response and sat up to kiss Quentin whose own erection was returning more quickly than he expected of his body. Eliot started rubbing Quentin’s entrance with cold wet fingers and it took a second for Quentin to realize that Eliot had already opened the lube while they had continued kissing—Eliot was too smooth, sometimes.

Quentin gasped into the kiss and moaned when Eliot finally entered him, pressing down onto his finger.

“So eager, Coldwater,” Eliot purred.

Quentin rolled his eyes.

Eliot massaged Quentin’s insides with just the one finger for a while longer, basking in Quentin’s gasps and moans. Quentin was moments away from asking for more when a second slender finger found Quentin’s entrance and Quentin pushed into that one, too, just as eagerly.

“How—“ Quentin breathed, “—How are you so patient?”

The smile on Eliot’s lips widened and he continued to use both fingers to massage Quentin’s insides.

“Those sounds make it very worth the wait,” Eliot muttered, Quentin’s moans continuing to fill the room.

Quentin groaned and leaned forward into Eliot’s arms as his knees began to get tired of holding his body at such an angle. Eliot added a third finger with the new position and Quentin’s moans turned into throaty gasps for a moment as the pain took a long moment to fully vanish. Eliot continued to work him until Quentin’s moans returned.

After removing his fingers, Eliot helped Quentin position himself. An eagerness to please always resonated within Quentin and now was no different. Eliot’s lubed erection pushing into Quentin brought mild discomfort but the look of pure ecstasy on Eliot’s face made it all the more worth it. Quentin slid himself down as far as he could and as slowly as possible. Eliot’s hands grasped desperately at Quentin’s ass, supporting and encouraging Quentin until skin touched skin.

Forehead to forehead, the two stilled while Quentin grew accustom to the feeling of Eliot inside of him. His body was throbbing in ways that he hadn’t felt in ages and, even better, he was feeling them with Eliot. Quentin pushed his hair out of his face to gaze into Eliot’s eyes—Quentin could easily get lost in them—and Eliot raised a rand to cup Quentin’s cheek.

“I’ve missed… this,” Quentin whispered.

“Tell me about it,” Eliot muttered with a smirk—Quentin chuckled.

Quentin began to move back and forth slowly, at first. He was testing his discomfort level and when it proved to be doable, he carefully lifted himself up before dropping back onto Eliot. Eliot watched Quentin for a bit, enjoying the concentrated look on Quentin’s face. Their mutual desire to make the other person feel good had Eliot pulling Quentin against him with one strong arm while the other lifted Quentin up, slightly.

With this newfound position, Eliot was free to fuck Quentin as hard and as quickly as he could—and he did. A flurry of moans and groans in his ear told him it was the exact right move.

“E-Eliot… Eli-Eliot—“ Quentin moaned and Eliot knew Quentin was getting close.

Eliot let himself go, in that moment. He fucked up into Quentin’s gasping form. Quentin’s fingers dug into Eliot’s shoulder and his free hand moved to his own weeping cock. Eliot came first in a wave of throaty moans and deep thrusts that Quentin rode until he also came, streaks of white dirtying Eliot’s chest.

Quentin continued to lie on Eliot through the gasps of air and cooling skin. His eyes remained closed with his forehead resting on Eliot’s shoulder until Eliot fell out of him and with it, some unpleasant wetness.

Groaning, Quentin rolled himself off of Eliot to retrieve some wet towels and clean himself up. Eliot remained until Quentin returned, washed off, with a warm, wet washcloth.

“So, this mattered, right?” Quentin asked suddenly after the two were cleaned with loose but comfortable pants hugging their hips. He had just sat back on his bed where Eliot continued to lay and the two exchanged glances.

“Of course this mattered,” Eliot said simply, “I wasn’t just trying to fuck you, Q. I am serious. I want you—all of you.”

Quentin smiled and took the space beside Eliot, curling into him. The rain continued outside and the two enjoyed the sound for another moment.

“So, about that playlist…” Quentin trailed off and Eliot laughed.

“What else was I supposed to do while I was still recovering? I listened to music when Margo would start to talk about Josh a little _too_ much,” Eliot responded with a shrug.

“And these songs reminded you of me?” Quentin asked carefully.

“Oh, Q, everything reminds me of you.”


End file.
